In the Quiet Seclusion
by Charlie Quill
Summary: Sev and Harry get to know each other after the expected destruction of Voldie. Expected to be a bit dark. Formerly 'And only blood can wash out blood'.
1. Chapter One

_Disclaimer: Yes I know I've been neglecting my other stuff, please forgive me! I had to get these out of my system! Well, anyways, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, don't sue! _Updated Version: 7 November, 2004

* * *

_A Quiet Seclusion _

_Chapter One _

_Only Blood Can Wash Out Blood_

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Walking down the stone steps of Hogwarts, Harry Potter took one last, longing look at the imposing castle he had called home for so long. His look turning for moment hard and angry, he turned around and set off distractedly for the coaches that would bear him away, never to return again. Inside the warm coach, he sat alone watching the passing scenery with detached interest. After all, his life would never be the same again.

Waving to Hagrid as he boarded the train, Harry found an empty compartment at the end and sat down. Sitting on the comfortable cushions he watched with glazed eyes as the scenery flitted by in a blur. Hedgwig sat in her cage, watching him with large yellow eyes, ruffling her feathers every so often. He half-smiled at her, and she made a short happy chirruping noise back.

The door creaked open and a boy with flame red hair walked in, freckles dotting his boyish face.

"Hey, mate."

"Ron," he acknowledged, still watching the trees and sky meld together.

"Seems unreal, doesn't it? Leaving Hogwarts I mean."

"Yep." Harry sighed, watching his best friend flop on the seat across from him. For once he was wearing robes that fit him right, he'd grown so tall that nobody's robes in the family had fit right. So almost everyone in the Weasley family had pitched in to get him two nice pairs. It was left unsaid who had been the main benefactor.

"So what do you think you'll do now? Now that V-Voldemort (Harry rolled his eyes) is dead, still planning on being an Auror?"

Harry shrugged, making a non-committal noise in his throat, "You?"

"I'm apprenticing under a guy Charlie worked with. I'm thinking about going into the Dragon business."

"Sounds like fun, what about Hermione?" Harry's mind flitted back to the time the both had announced their engagement to him in the common room. Quite a nasty shocker for him though, he had always had a soft spot for Hermione. He had thought for sure…but no, it wasn't true. She loved Ron and he loved her. Harry _was_ just a friend.

"She's going to a muggle university for four years then she's off to apprentice under that wizard genius, 'William Gates' I think his name is, then after that she's gonna want a job with the ministry, probably in something really intelligent." Rolling his eyes. After all, Minister Fudge and 'intelligence' didn't really work together well in the same sentence.

Harry allowed himself to snicker with his friend, before a companionable silence filled the compartment.

"Ron," he started, serious in his eyes, "You've been such a good friend, I want you to have something."

Ron cocked his head, staring at him suspiciously for a moment. "You don't have to Harry, you're my friend."

"You've saved my neck more than once."

"It's what any good hearted friend would do, besides I didn't want that Speedlight 500 of yours to fall into the wrong hands. Not until I was sure I was in the will, that is!" He grinned and Harry mirrored it, feeling an odd twist in his stomach.

"I'm serious, Ron, I want you to take the Speedlight and Hedgwig."

"Bloody hell, Harry! Are you mad?!"

"I don't need a broom anymore, I'm not going out for quidditch, and Hedgwig will be lonely. At least if I give her to you, she'll have Errol to keep her company." Harry shrugged, but leaning in closer with a mischievous grin whispered, "And I think she's quite taken with Ginny's new owl."

Ron rolled his eyes, "Females! Thanks mate, you're possibly the worst nutter I've ever met, but thanks."

"Your welcome, Ron."

In a cloud of grey steam the Hogwarts Express pulled into a halt at Platform 9¾, blanketing the waiting group of parents mysteriously. Stepping down, off the stepladder, Harry was met with the familiar buzz of noise as child was reunited with parent. He watched Hermione embrace her mother and father; looked on as Ron got attacked by Fred and George Weasley, and observed several others he recognised likewise greet their families.

Shrugging into his jacket he shrunk his trunk and other belongings, tucking his wand away safely. He was tempted to look at his _License of Magic_ from the Ministry, but refrained and instead he contentedly patted his coat pocket. Turning away from the many displays of joy and happiness around him he discreetly sunk into the barrier leading to the muggle world, and walked away.

Shoes padding against the cobblestone street he walked amiably down the old road far out in the country. It was late, maybe seven at night at the latest. He considered buying a watch as he passed an old fashioned 'Trinkets and Toys' store, but cast it aside with a rumble of his stomach. Out on the country road again he pondered what he would do now. The Dark lord had been defeated; there really was no use for him now. After all, hadn't that been the only reason anyone had ever spoken to him? His heart felt slightly heavy as his feet padded softly on a dusty road. Dumbledore had waited until the school term to start to contact him, and even then he must of known that Harry was the only one to be able to kill Voldemorte. So many people had adored him for being the Boy-Who- Lived, and loved him for destroying the Dark lord, but after that everyone had deserted him. He had graduated and was now on his own. He knew Ron and Hermione would still be his friends, but they had their own lives now and their own futures to think about.

Truth be told, Harry hadn't even expected to have a future, and now that it was staring him in the face, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

Finding a barn full of livestock Harry climbed up to the loft and snuggled down in the itchy hay. Letting out a long, drawn out sigh he closed his eyes and listened to the sound of the shifting beasts below him and the ruffling feathers of owls above him.

Harry Potter felt like he was the loneliest wizard on earth. He actually didn't mind as much as one would have thought. He enjoyed the silence of walking down a deserted road, watching the shadows around him change. The feel of ice rain splashing across his face, drenching his hair, and soaking his clothes. Then finding a friendly pub where he could sit by the fire, a blanket draped over his cold, sore muscles, a cup of black tea in his hands. He liked to sit for hours, listening to the managers of the pub tell him their tale, watching the rain beat against the window panes, the quiet ticking of a clock on the mantel. He would get a room, sleep and in the morning shower, shave and be on his way. Never any complications, betrayals, or intrigue; just a simple quiet sort of life.

A bell tinkled as he opened the door to the squeaky clean pub. He smiled at the woman that came out of an adjacent room, an apron tied across her plump middle. She likewise smiled warmly, showing him to a table next to the window.

"Have you been helped?" She asked kindly. Harry shook his head.

"Black tea, if you please." She looked faintly disappointed.

"I'm sorry, we don't carry that. I've got some Earl Grey, if you'd like?"

He nodded and she bustled away.

He glanced about the fairly small room; it was empty except for himself and two other scattered customers. So far away from the big cities, he guessed business wasn't so good. He guessed the other two men were probably just going through town. "I'm Sara, by the way. Are you waitin' for anyone?" She queried when she returned with his tea.

He shook his head quietly for a moment, giving her a dry grin. "Why don't you move business closer to the city? Close to London you would be exploding with customers."

"Out here in the country it's more beautiful, and the customers aren't in as much of a hurry. During lunch we get enough to get by, and the people are generous."

"Your accent, it's familiar, you're American aren't you?" Dark brown hair was braided into a crown on top of her head, her cheeks slightly pink with all her bustling around the small room.

"Hmmm, yes I came over seas when I wanted to attend Oxford."

"Oxford? That's a very prestigious school."

She nodded her head with a shy smile.

"So why are you here? With a degree like that, you could do almost anything. Why this life?" She paused from picking up two dirty dishes from the adjacent table, a thoughtful look on her face. Harry had almost given up on an answer when... "Because if I went ahead and got my Masters and stuff, then went and became part of a big business I would be living someone else's dream. You know what I mean? This is a life that I love, I wouldn't want to give it up for anything." By her satisfied grin he could see that she was indeed happy.

But tracing the lines of her eyes with his own he could see that as happy as she was, it was hard on her. He finished his tea and got up to leave. "Is there an inn I can stay at someplace?"

"We have a spare room here, you can stay there the night." Sara offered. Harry agreed and followed as she led him up a pair of rickety old stairs.

The room was small, but clean, the bedding folded neatly on top of the mattress and a handful of lilies in a vase on the nightstand. Bidding her good night Harry made the bed by hand, switched off the light and crawled into the warm covers.

Harry ended up staying for two weeks in total. To pay for his room and board he worked around the pub, repairing tables or chairs, and running errands in town for Sara when she was out of something. Sara, in return for all the help, ordered a special supply of Black tea for Jon which he drank every day at precisely seven o'clock in the evening.

The second to the last day he was there, a barn owl soared into his open window carrying a thick, yellow envelope with the Ministry of Magic's seal. Ignoring for the better half of an hour Harry finally relented and tore it open to find a formal apology for all wrongs committed against him by the ministry or anyone connected with it. Harry skimmed the letter before coming to the last sheet of parchment, which gave him the figures that had been transferred to his account. Staring at the number at the bottom of the page Harry scowled.

The Ministry could go hang itself for all he cared. Who said he wanted the money anyway? Tearing the paper and igniting it he sent the owl away and went to bed. It wasn't until the next morning as he was sipping his tea and reading the paper up in his room that he noticed his slip. The Ministry now knew where he was. Chair crashing to the floor, Harry packed up his belongings and changed his clothes and boots before heading downstairs.

Several miles away Harry walked off the road a ways before he took out his wand and started a string of complicated spells that would ward off owls and prevent anyone from casting a locator charm on him. Three hours later he finished and returned to the main road and found a shady tree to climb and fall asleep in.

Five miles away Sara was humming a tune, idly wondering where Jon had run off to. He hadn't shown up all morning and she had heard a sound from his room upstairs for hours. Finished with the bar and sure that all the tables had been wiped clean and someone was wiping the floor she headed upstairs and knocked on Jon's door. Not hearing anything she knocked again, louder. Still not hearing anything, and sure something had happened she twisted the handle, surprised when the door swung open to reveal…

Nothing. The room was bare, the bed made, and the window half open to let in a cool breeze. Well, not entirely empty. On the nightstand sat a teacup half full of cold Black tea, a napkin wedged underneath it. Picking up the cup she was about to through the napkin away when she saw the something was written on its surface.

_Life's a paradise where you love it most. - Jon_

Something slipped from her fingers and looking down Sara nearly screamed at the five thousand-pound notes.

The next morning Harry woke to the sound of a loud engine speeding down the country road and rolled over, wondering where in the seven hells his pillow had run off to. FLUMP. Groggily he opened one green eye, and then the other, rubbing his shoulder where he had fallen from his perch in the tree.

"Owie," he whined to no one in particular.

But for Harry Potter, there can never be a quiet sort of life.

Twenty years had passed since Harry had visited the small pub maintained by a woman he knew only as Sara. It was an uncommonly cold and wet July evening he came trudging up the muddy walk, his green eye fixed on the warm glow of the windows. Pushing open the wooden door a thirty-seven year old Harry nearly sagged in relief at the warmth of the place. Peeling off his scarf, coat he hung them on the drying rack near the fire before retreating to the quietest corner he could find.

The money he had left behind twenty years ago had obviously been put to good use. The main area had been expanded to allow for more room, there was a set of stairs that hadn't been there before, as well as a sign that offered rooms for the night. The main part of the room nearest to the fire was crowded and Harry briefly wondered if it was the fire or the hospitality that drew so many patrons.

Several waiters bustled around the room, trays full of steaming mugs and hot foods.

"Sera, I'm whiskey be me needin'!" An elderly man at the bar with a shock of white hair was waving his mug about, his nose red with intoxication.

A woman's laugh answered him and he shifted his gaze to see a still plump woman with still darker brown hair, her round face merry as she gently took his mug away and escorted him upstairs. Minutes later she was back again and catching his eye made her way over.

"Have you been helped?" When Harry shook his head 'no', she brought out a wad of paper from her apron and a pen from behind her ear and commanded his order cheerfully.

"Black tea, if you please." The woman named Sara got a strange look on her face.

"I'm sorry, we don't carry that-" Her voice paused and she peered at him from over her paper and pen. "It's just that…We only carry Black tea for one person around here and he hasn't been by in years. "

"Your accent sounds familiar. You're from America aren't you?" He asked smartly. His dull, green eyes catching a spark of life.

"JON!" Sara wrapped him in a warm, motherly embrace, a few tears leaking from underneath her long dark lashes. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again!" She sobbed slightly, her voice a near hysterical pitch, and her face beaming with happiness. And just as suddenly as she had embraced him she was gone, and a hand was whooshing toward his face. Almost without out a thought he caught it mid flight, and directed her toward the chair across from him.

"And where have you been!?" She asked furiously. "To just up and leave like that, why, I ought to throw you out on your rear right now! The nerve!" She huffed.

Harry grinned, and suddenly she was silent. "Jon," she whispered in shock. "Where did you get them scars?" Her breath hitched, "And your eye…" Her eyes had taken on a half-fearful, half-sympathetic stare. A hand unconsciously drifted up to feel the place where scars marred his face. One running from his hairline over his right, blind white eye to disappear beneath the collar of his shirt, and two others on his left cheek, twins, running from the top of his cheekbone to the base of his jaw bone. "Oh, Jon, what have you been up to?"

Harry smiled. "Nothing without good reason, and whole lot of help. But that's not why I'm here. How are you? You seem well off since last I was here."

"Don't you go playing ignorant on me, Jon Sawyer! You know very well how I'm 'well off', and don't you say nothing different!" Harry couldn't seem to wipe the grin off his face. It seemed almost nothing had changed. Well, maybe one thing.

"Hey, Mum, who's this then?" Harry had to turn his whole face to see who had addressed the woman before him.

"Oh, hello Kristen, this is an old friend. Jon, this is my oldest daughter Kristen, Kristen this is Jon Sawyer."

"You got married?" Harry asked, stunned.

Sara blushed scarlet. "We had been courting for almost three months before you dropped by. He had to go overseas to Canada for the month you were here. I guess we never got around to talking much about our personal lives."

"Do you have any other children?"

Sara nodded, "A boy from a previous marriage, he would be about twenty five. Kristen here is nineteen, I have seven-year-old twins but they're visiting my husband's mother in Dublin now. Kristen agreed to stay behind to help me look after the pub."

Harry nodded his head, "A commendable act, young lady." Kristen blushed almost as deep a red as her mother.

Sara sent his daughter to fetch Jon a cup of black tea and the two spent some time catching up on Sara's life. Soon Sara had to retire to bed but she said that she would have someone leave some clean linens on his bed if he wanted to stay the night.

But hours later Harry Potter had still not left his spot to either leave or go to the waiting room upstairs. Instead, his dry, callused hands were encircling a fourth (fifth?) cup of Black tea, his thumb rubbing at the circular edge. The grim set of his mouth only seemed to highlight the abnormalcy of his blind eye and most of the remaining patrons kept well away from the dark man, crowding around the welcoming hearth instead.

Randomly pulling out a pocket watch to check the time every so often Harry finally just left it on the table, open face up, the hands displaying a quarter past eleven. A movement brought him out of his thoughts and dimly interested at who had walked by, he lifted his tired head ivy green eye catching sight of a black cloak as it slid into a booth. Still facing away from him, Harry studied the shoulder length black hair, rigid countenance, and odd familiar black clothing. Somewhat mechanically he scraped back his chair, stood, and proceeded towards the familiar figure. Feeling like, for the entire world, a month being drawn to a deadly light he stopped a few paces short and stared.

"Snape?" He stood in shock at the sinister wizard sitting before him, glittering black eyes regarding his shabby form and peculiar facial scars.

"Potter." Ah, acknowledgement. Harry mentally smirked at the familiar coldness he detected in the voice. "Sit down or leave my presence before you bring to much attention to yourself, Merlin knows it's a detestable sight."

Obediently sitting down, the forgotten wizard watched his former Potions professor suspiciously. "Why are you here?"

"What? The famed Harry Potter not getting any attention on his birthday? Shocked anyone actually cared?"

Well _this w_as an unexpected turn of events. Was it really July already? "I honestly don't care whether or not someone remembers. Though it is a bit of a shocker to see you of all people here."

Something flashed across Snape's eyes for a moment and Harry watched it with interest. Was it pain? Anger? Surprise? He wondered if he had ever seen the Potions Master shocked before. He decided he hadn't so sipping the hot tea that had been placed before him by the waitress, he stared out at the pouring rain that had eventually driven him to this very pub.

He thought he must look quite a sight in the eyes of his most loathed professor. His unkempt hair, which had grown to an unprofessional length, was jammed underneath a wool cap; his second hand clothes were soaked through and stained. He hadn't shaved that morning so his scratchy stubble wasn't his most attractive feature. Mud clung to his clothes and skin, and something slimy and squishy was lodged in his left boot.

"So what's the really reason you're here, professor?" He asked, not wanting to continue that line of thought.

"I am no longer your professor, Potter, you may drop the formality." A slack-eyed waiter came as Snape's bidding and took his order.

"It's the only way I've ever known you, how then, would I address you? Severus? Snape? One-Who-Hates-Me-With-A-Vengeance?" He added with a dry laugh.

"Your sarcasm is almost as atrocious as your appearance, Potter."

"As we are dropping formalities, Severus, perhaps you could call me by given name. It's Harry you know. I believe, after my grandfather. Henry Somthingorother Potter. But seeing as Henry is an awfully formal name, everyone just called him 'Harry'. Now _I_ on the other hand, might just be named Harry…"

"Harry." The older man growled dangerously.

"Ah, very well. Back to the reason you are here, I somehow doubt you just dropped by to remind me it's my birthday. And even more disturbing is the idea you dropped by for a friendly chat."

The wizard made a non-committal sound in his throat. Harry quirked a brow and stared at him.

"You actually wanted to check up on me?" Harry asked around a mouthful of bread one of the waiters had given him. Severus looked up from his laced fingers, black eyes swirling mysteriously. "Well perhaps I'm not the only one who's cracked." Sipping his black tea Harry watched as the waitress came back, and gave Severus his cup of tea. Camomile.

"Mr. Weasley was concerned when you disappeared into thin air."

"_Was_?"

"Was."

"And now?"

Severus gave a barely perceptible shrug, an odd movement so out of place on the man it led Harry to wonder how much the man had changed since his release from the troubles of the war.

Severus didn't say anything for a few moments, Harry opened his mouth to prompt a response and then, "It has been largely speculated you committed suicide."

Harry choked on whatever he was about to say. "Excuse me?" Harry then had to wait until the Potions Master had taken his sip of tea.

"The work of one Reeta Skeeter, I believe you've met the woman?"

"You call that thing a woman? An insect might be more a more accurate term." Harry rose the cup to his lips but hesitated before setting it back down.

"Any other speculation I should be aware of before I ever decide to step foot in the Britain wizarding community again?"

Severus shook his head with a reflective look, "Nothing to extreme at any rate. Though it is curious how neither of your two school companions have shown that they…" Severus trailed off, seemingly lost for words.

"Don't care?" Harry finished for him, if it hurt that his own friends had forgotten him after twenty year he didn't show it. Though he must have read the thoughts bouncing around in Severus' head because he made a careless wave of his hand. "Don't worry about it Sev, (the older wizard raised a delicate brow, but didn't say anything) I figured it out quite some time ago. The fact that I was something…different. Hermione and Ron have a life of their own to live now. Especially now that the war has ended, don't you think it's the least that they deserve?" With a shrug of his shoulders he fished around in his wallet to pay the bill the waiter had set before him before walking away, shoes scraping wood as he went.

Harry watched the barely perceptible sign of surprise flit across his former professor's features before dispersing once again. He dimly wondered why the man was a walking box of cynical stoicism.

"Why aren't you living the luxury, Potter?" Severus finally asked. He made a motion with his hand, taking in the entire pub with his eyes, "Surely you don't expect me to believe you _enjoy_ this life?"

"Harry," the former student corrected, Snape glared, and Harry grinned. "And what would I do with luxury?"

"Don't you think _you_ deserve it?" He asked with a sardonic twist of his lips.

"No." Came the answer accompanied by an odd smile.

"Why not?" a little unsettled, albeit curious.

"Why, Professor Severus Snape, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were an apprentice to her sliminess Reeta Skeeter." He gave his former professor a cheeky grin before taking a sip from his cold tea.

Severus gave him a less than decent look, before taking a sip from his own tea, studiously ignoring the slip in formalities. "Just because you are no longer my student, doesn't mean I don't have the right to hex you into oblivion."

"What do you want, Severus? Or, if I'm not mistaken, what does the Headmaster want?" Harry asked, suddenly serious.

"I think the question is, Pot-Harry, why are _you_ here?"

Harry shrugged; watching the rain hit the window pain viscously as if daring him to come out again. "I saved the world, everybody's happy now. What else matters? Voldermorte and his cronies are no long in existence, the dementors are in captivity, where else could I go? Face it, Potions Master, I was just a pawn in the wizards chess game of life. Cast away after I've played my part to help win the game"

"I'd hardly call it game," he said silkily, eyes flashing dangerously.

Harry's eyes dimmed for a moment while he watched the gales of wind and rain wreck havoc in the streets. Finally he shifted his gaze to Severus' arm, covered by the finely tailored sleeve. "Gone?" he asked.

Severus nodded his head, but Harry still hadn't looked up from his arm. With a slight movement he uncovered where the mark should have been, revealing unmarred flesh.

Harry stared at it wistfully, "The devil's own brigade," he murmured so quietly Severus wondered if he had heard him right. "And with tears of blood he cleansed the hand, the hand that held the steel: for only blood can wipe out blood, and only tears can heal: and the crimson stain that was of Cain became Christ's snow-white seal."

"_The Ballad of Reading Gaol_, Oscar Wilde" Severus quipped as if in a play, reciting his lines on cue.

Harry nodded, again distracted by the falling rain. Severus covered his bare arm with the sleeve of his robe and was lost in his own thoughts.

"How are you? Still teaching?" Startled out of his thoughts Snape nodded his head, taking a sip of his now cold tea. Had they really been sitting there that long?

Harry watched him for a moment, noting the wearisome lines that once haunted his features were gone, replaced with a healthy vigour. It seemed strange to see his professor, the dark circles under his eyes gone, a new sparkle of life burning in the depths of his black eyes, his thin reedy frame filled out healthily. His hair likewise was less greasy than he remembered it, though now carried the fine silver lines of age.

After a mental check of himself he almost laughed. His muggle clothes were in worse condition than he ever remembered Lupin's robes to be, he was filthy from his travels, and thin as well. His eyes had dark circles under them, and his skin had taken on an unhealthy pallor. His own hair was limp, still drying from the afternoon drizzle, and was likewise showing the first signs of age.

"JON SAWYER!" A high, clear female voice shrieked into the morning air. Harry stuck his head out of his window where he had just thrown a bowl full of cold water to see a very irate woman, hands on hips, dripping brown hair splattering her face. "Oh dear, are you all right Sara? My, that rain just seems to come and go in these parts doesn't it?" He said, mimicking her American southern drawl. Meeting her at the bar he offered her several towels and warm mug of coffee. 

"Aren't you a bit old_ to be playing jokes on poor, defenceless women such as myself?" She asked around her steaming cup. Harry interjected a snort at 'defenceless', but her scowl was overshadowed by the laughter in her eyes. _

"Old?!" Harry nearly fell out of his chair. "How old do you think I am?!"

"At least in your late twenties. Maybe early thirties?" She hazarded a guess. "Am I right?"

Harry shook his head. "Seventeen!"

It was Sara's turn to almost fall out of her chair. "No way!" When he shook his head she leaned back as if to get a better perspective. "Weird."

old 

That had been the last they spoke of it, though after leaving the small pub Harry had later researched the matter. Apparently he wasn't the only this happened too. Other people, most notably the ones who'd had an active participation in a war of some sort, always aged quicker than others did. He found a book that listed all sorts of people, muggle and wizard alike. Abraham Lincoln was a prime example, showing pictures both before and after the War he'd been involved in. He'd checked in a mirror and realised, he DID in fact look older than he'd expected to. Upon further reflection he'd realised that he'd seen it happen to people he known in his own life as well. Dumbledore, certainly; Remus, oh yes; Sirius, of course; even Severus had never looked like a thirty year old man.

Harry noted the rich fabrics from which Snape's robes were exquisitely tailored whilst his own were rags-bought half-price from a 'thrift rack' clearance sale. He almost laughed at the strangeness of it all. Here he was sitting in front of the man he had loathed for so long, sharing a cup of cold, tasteless tea, and having a civil conversation. His fifteen-year-old self would probably laugh hysterically if anyone ever told him it was possible.

His mind drifted back to the dark mark that had vanished the moment Harry had done the world's dirty work. Though Tom's mark had gone, his own hadn't. He knew under the sleeve of his tattered long sleeve sweater there were many marks, many made by his mortal enemy, while others…well. What was one to do, locked in a cell with nothing but a knife minutes before all choice was ripped from him? But he had made his choice, and he was still alive to a quarter of the world's utter displeasure.

A few were only superficial wounds, made only deep enough to watch the crimson blood surface and run in long, sinewy strands down his pale hands. Dripping off the tips of his fingers into small puddles on the cold, stone floor. He would watch, helpless, as the blood stained the winter snow, and watch it disappear without a trace when spring finally arrives. He shuddered. Five months. Five whole months he had been left to rot in Voldemort's care. Five whole, bloody, torturous, and terribly lonely months.

Now as he watched the rainfall, creating a mist on the ancient cobblestone streets he wondered if anyone would find his hidden trail. He knew a couple times someone might have casually walked by and seen a suspicious dark stain on the un-tilled ground. He might spare it a second glance but look away, shrugging it off. It had taken him almost a week to drag himself away to safety; Snape had found him and taken him away. But he had never been able to dispel the feeling of intense loneliness that had plagued him ever since.

He watched Severus take another sip of tea and grimace, quickly putting it down and taking out his wand. Muttering a spell, a thin, delicate wisp of steam carefully rose to the ceiling.

Severus was saying something now and wrenching his eyes from the steam he noticed his own cup had refilled and was also steaming hot.

"Thank you," said Harry, taking it into his hands to warm his numb fingers.

Nodding his head, Severus wondered what had happened to the golden boy he had once known. Or had he been there at all? Of course he had. Hadn't he?

"There is an open position at Hogwarts."

Harry asked with an amused smirk, "Defence?"

"Yes."

"So?" He took a sip from his cup, savouring the taste. Camomile. He briefly wondered why camomile but guessed that Severus just hadn't known what he had been drinking in the first place.

"So, in the very real chance I do not get it, I at least, want someone competent enough to handle the job."

Harry stared at him for a moment before laughing replied, "and the truth comes out."

"Pardon?" Severus apparently was used to having semi-pleasant conversation and wasn't sure how to handle this new development of 'laughing'.

"You think I am competent enough to handle the job of Defence?" Questioned Harry with an amused smile.

Severus looked uncomfortable, but grudgingly nodded. "As egotistical as you already are, I believe you would be a great asset to the faculty."

"I'm sure 'asset' wasn't your first choice of words." He received a grunt for an answer and grinned. "So who died?"

It was Severus' turn to look taken aback. "What?"

"The last professor. The job is cursed, as I'm sure you already knew. Why else would you offer me such an opportunity?" Harry gave him a cheeky grin.

"The job is not cursed, imp, and the last professor -Mr. Feather- resigned. He was not, as I understand it, "cursed into oblivion". Though I could see how _you _would come to that particular fate," Snape finished with a sneer.

"Hmmm," he replied in mock solemnity, nodding his head in agreement. "I, however, am still curious as to what secret you hold that has prevented your own demise."

Severus arched his brow again, giving Harry a burning glare.

"Will you at least make an appointment for an interview?" Snape's tones were clipped.

"Perhaps," he said lightly, taking a sip of tea and watching the rain start to recede. He squinted his eyes, trying to see into the darkness. Far off into the distance he could see a speck of light, steadily growing, illuminating all in its path. It was almost dawn and not having slept, was beginning to feel the stiffness creep into his already weary muscles. "Well good-morning, Severus. I regret to announce I must be on my way," he stood up stiffly, stretching his limbs, convincing them they really did want to stand and support him.

"Come back to Hogwarts, Harry, Merlin knows we have the room. And besides," he said to the look of subdued shock on Harry's face, "We have the only doors that will open wide enough for your inflated, sorry excuse for a mind to get through."

"Insufferable git, you said I was competent."

"To a point, Potter, but that hardly disqualifies you from being labelled as the obtuse child you certainly are."

"It's Harry, _professor_", he corrected, "and you say _I'm _the obtuse one?" Harry said it under his breath, but loud enough for his former professor to catch every syllable. "And what's this nonsense about being a child?" _I'd hardly call myself a child,_ he thought wistfully.

Severus gave him a sour look, and Harry couldn't help but glare right back.

The two left their booth and headed out into the drizzling rain, Harry waving a farewell to the exhausted waiters who had stayed up all night, waiting for them to leave. Pulling out his wallet he scribbled another note on his napkin and placed it under his teacup with two hundred-pound notes.

Once outside both paused, just under the roof and inhaled deeply. Harry briefly thought it smelled like the quidditch pitch right after a rain. He fondly remembered the one game it had been close to sleeting and Hermione had performed a spell that helped with his vision. Suddenly his eyes hardened and he pushed the image of Hermione out of his mind.

Severus watched as Harry's eyes clouded for a brief moment, certain that a memory was now swirling in the murky green depths. He wondered what memory had been stirred in that singular moment he had taken a breath of fresh air and wet atmosphere. He traced the odd scars on his face with his eyes, wondering where they had come from. Who had inflicted them? An even better question was who could have possibly close enough to inflict _any_ damage? But while he lingered on that thought for a moment, it was that moment in which Harry had shaken himself of his connection to the past.

"Well are we going to Hogwarts, or has your age caught up to you so that you no longer remember the way?" Snape glared at his former student and taking out his wand tapped himself and Harry and muttered a spell.

With a resounding CRACK Harry felt the familiar sensation of being shattered in a million pieces like glass. Swimming in frigid water rapids was the next, before a split second later he was standing at the entrance gates to Hogwarts: School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He could acutely feel the tender strands of magic that hung in the air from the precious burst of magic, but even more shocking was the amount of magic emitted before him. Other wizards, who were around magic all day, every day couldn't have appreciated what Harry felt as he stood before the massive gates and even more monstrous castle. The air was alive with it, so thick Harry might have been tempted to transfigure a knife and try slicing through it.

Instead he summed up his courage and walked toward the gate. Undoing the clasp of the cast iron gates he felt a wave of the magic cast over his person. It felt cool and smooth stopping just short of actual liquid. He could feel each individual thread course through him, testing him and probing him. He knew they were searching to see if his character was true, and if he meant harm to those it held within its borders.

It seemed to take hours as his legs seemed to have lost their strength and each step seemed to be weighted down with iron. But within the time it takes to place one foot in front of the other he was through. He inhaled, not realising he had paused, and sighed. He was home.

* * *


	2. Chapter Two

 _Disclaimer: Yes I know I've been neglecting my other stuff, please forgive me! I had to get these out of my system! Well, anyways, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, don't sue! _Updated Version: 13 November, 2004

* * *

_In the Quiet Seclusion_

_Chapter Two_

_Coming Home_

* * *

Within moments he found himself following the malevolent figure of his potions professor. He couldn't count the times he had seen this scene played out before. As he watched folds of billowing black cloth he found that he still wondered if Snape used a special charm for effect.

Snape? When had he changed from Severus? He chanced a look around him as they ascended a flight of stairs. It seemed as if he had stepped back into another time. He was eleven years old again, following the vile, greasy, potion professor to another undeserved detention. The shadows played strange games on the walls, distorting what he knew to be there, tricking him into seeing what wasn't.

What was that? Was it really the wind, or was it one of the ghosts? Did he really want to know? A chill swept by and he shivered, clutching his jacket closer to him. Was it colder than before? He wrinkled his nose; his mind playing tricks on him more than likely.

They rounded a corner coming face to face with Filch, the caretaker who looked after the castle. Harry could hear a low meow, which resembled the cat's version of an evil roar. Sure enough when he glanced down he saw Mr. Norris sitting as still as a statue, staring at him with chilling amber eyes. Refocusing on Filch he almost grimaced at the wicked smile he wore.

"What's this we 'ave now, professor? A trespasser I warrant! Ah, Mr. Potter" Here he got right up into Harry's face, looking him in the eye, and smiling grimly." You always were one of the more rotten lot" Harry couldn't help but notice all the rotting, broken teeth that leered at him from Argus' lips. He suddenly felt nauseous. "We'll have _you_ in the dungeons, lad" He smiled nastily again, giving Harry the sneaking sensation that he wouldn't _ever_ want to be in the same room alone with this man. Especially if he had reason to be…_displeased_ with him.

"No, Argus, Mr. Potter is not to be kept in the dungeons. I am taking him to see the Headmaster about filling the Defense opening."

It was hard to tell who was more disappointed, Filch or Mrs. Norris. "This early in the mo'nin'? No muggle or wizard in their right mind would be up at this hour!" He stared at them both suspiciously, more so Harry than Snape.

"Which leads to the interesting question of what **you **are doing up at such an unorthodox hour? At any rate, yes, well, the Headmaster's sanity _has_ been the focus of much scrutiny over the past hundred or so years. And it will continue to be so for many more. Good day, Argus."

"Good day, professor. Potter." 

"Filch." Willing himself not to look behind him as they continued on their trek to Albus's office, Harry could still feel Filch's nasty look following him down the corridor, and through a thick door.

Harry followed the professor through more corridors, past sleeping portraits and dozing suits of armor. He absent-mindedly wondered if anything had changed since he had left. They passed through a one particular door and Harry felt as if he had walked into a room filled with bees. The room was _humming_ with magic. It was thick, almost as much as it had been by the gate. He knew it was a detection spell, and tracing the signature, wasn't surprised to find it was the Headmaster's. If this was just a detection charm, years old, Harry began to wonder what he would experience when he actually met the man.

At long last they came face to face with the gargoyle that had guarded the office to the Headmaster's office for centuries.

"Sugar plum fairy." Harry's eyes flitted to his former professor's face, which looked as if it pained him to say the three words.

"Sugar plum fairy?" He questioned as they ascended the stairs.

The professor sniffed disdainfully. "Headmaster Dumbledore has taken a decided liking to the character, since the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs put on the ballet last term." Snape looked even more sinister as he continued; "I believe last week was a rendition of the actual dance."

"You did _ballet_ to get into his office?!" Harry could feel tremors of mirth about to explode inside of him, but bit the inside of his lip. But the mental images were too many, and his will power too little. He hastily feigned a coughing fit.

"For Merlin's sake, Potter, have a little more subtly."

Harry immediately sobered at the icy cold tones, but knew he wasn't going to forget any of the images he had conjured in his mind any time soon. Harry watched, as Snape was about to knock on the door when a muffled voice came drifting out.

"Come in, Severus, Harry."

The door opened of it's own accord but Harry felt the breath of fresh magic like ice water at four in the morning. They both walked in, shut the door, and advanced toward the office.

Fawkes was dozing by the window, his magnificent plumes in their prime. As Harry entered the room he blinked sleepily before giving a chirp and coming to land on his shoulder. Nuzzling his cheek for a moment he cocked his head at the potions professor who had been watching the scene with mild irritation.

After a moments debate he gave another chirp, less enthusiastic, but recognition all the same. After the moment had passed Fawkes flew back to his perch next to Dumbledore and the two guests also took their seats.

"Tea?" Harry braced himself as he turned to look him eye to eye, he hadn't forgotten his lessons in legilimency.

"Yes professor." He croaked, regarding the amusement that was hidden in the swirls of blue.

"Albus, I've brought Mr. Potter to see about the open Defence job. In the likely hood, I am again rejected, I would appreciate it if you at least hired someone who is-

"Competent?" Harry finished with an amused look.

Snape glared at him, but Harry was no longer paying any attention.

"Headmaster, I've been without a job for quite some time, and we both know I have done well enough on my N.E.W.T.s and O.W.L.s to fill several positions."

"Yes," the old mage acknowledged.

"But by all means, take time to think about it before you just hire me, I want the job because of my capabilities, not my name."

Snape sounded as though he had choked on something, but shifting his gaze Harry saw him take a sip of tea and look pointedly at the far wall.

"Albus, I have to attend to some things." The headmaster nodded his head, still staring at Harry through his spectacles.

Harry, who had been studying the potions professor, returned his gaze to observe the Headmaster carefully.

He didn't do, or say much for a few minutes other than take a sip from his tea and run a hand absentmindedly over Fawkes' feathers. Harry could feel his tension mount inside of him, slipping into the air about them. The room was quiet except for the sound of their slow, quiet breathing. Muffled by the wall he could hear the silver instruments whirr and chime with precision. It was calming, somehow and listening to the irregularity of it all found himself quite relaxed. He watched, detached, as the dawning sun moved across the rich oak desk, illuminating the portraits of all the past Headmaster's. All were of course sleeping, their heads nodding with each small snore, but Harry knew better than that. He could see a Hufflepuff's eyes flutter open and then shut every now and then. As he scanned the room, he almost jumped in surprise as he met the eyes of a very much awake Salazar Slytherin. The two eyed each other for a moment before Dumbledore's voice interrupted their mutual curiosity.

"Lemon Drop?" he asked. Harry quietly accepted, long used to the Headmaster's odd ways.

"Why do you want the position in question, Harry?"

Harry thought about that for a moment. In truth he wasn't at all quite sure about why he wanted the job. Did he even want the job? He mentally argued with himself, weighing the pros and cons of each potential answer. Perhaps he did want the job, if only for proving to himself that in the eyes of so many children, there would be hope for the future. Maybe he could make a positive impact on the students he taught. All great enemies, after all, started as troubled children. Maybe, just maybe he could prevent another Tom Riddle.

He chewed his bottom lip, mulling over that thought. What if he failed? What if another child, much like Tom, ascended into such power that he would try to ravage chaos. What if this time, there was no Savior to come to the aid of wizards or muggles?

He signed wearily, his vision drifting to the open window from which he could see the sun, steadily rising. Why did he care? If there were a Savior, he would have to go through the same expectations he had had to go through. Harry pitied the boy or man, maybe even girl who had to face that fate. But then again, that Savior would be stronger than he was. Strong enough to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders when Harry himself ceased to exist.

Finally, after tracing the shadowed lines on the desk before he glanced up and gave a sad smile.

"Hope."

Albus echoed the word with a thoughtful look on his face, his blue eyes far away for a moment. He stood suddenly if a bit stiffly, and Harry followed suit, he extended his hand and Harry grasped it somewhat reluctantly.

"Welcome to Hogwarts, Professor Potter."

"Thank you, Headmaster, yet I believe the title will take a little getting used to."

"Oh?"

"Well, of course! It is going to be a bit odd."

"Hmmm, well I'm sure you know where you're class room is, Harry, if you'll wait a moment I'll send Dobby to show you to your quarters."

"Thank you, Headmaster." Harry replaced his cap which he had been unconsciously wringing and heaved a sigh. He was actually going to be a professor.

Within moments, Dobby appeared with a loud 'pop' and was briefed on his duties.

"Dobby is happy to be of service to Master Harry Potter he is, sirs, Dobby is SO happy to see Master Harry Potter, Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter sir if he should be needing it!" Huge, fat drops of tears were leaking from his tennis ball sized eyes and he kept blowing his nose with one of Hermione's ugly green hats.

To be described as ecstatic would be a severe understatement.

Harry followed Dobby deep into the heart of the castle, stopping when he came face to face with an oil painting of a Griffin.

Climbing through the portrait hole he silently thanked Albus for giving him a relatively normal portrait for his quarters. In all actuality as long as he didn't have an intoxicated knight he was fine with just about any -thing or one occupying the canvas in front of his rooms. Whispering a simple illumination spell, Mark noted he had been provided the bare necessities.

A desk was by the far wall, a few bookshelves were on his right, and through one of two doors on his left he could see the corner of an armoire and a rug. He felt a slight chill and casting a warming charm he investigated his newest home. It seemed a bit nostalgic to be here, in the very same place he had first ever known a home, and consider it his first.

Following the hallway on his right, next to the bookshelves he found an empty room with a visible layer of dust on the floor. A blank canvas hung on the far wall and with a wave of his hand a landscape appeared with a raven flying in the backround. Conjuring a comfortable high back chair, he reclined, grateful for the peaceful silence. To be expected, it didn't last.

With a small 'pop' Dobby appeared in the room. "Master Harry Potter sir, the professor Snape wishes to enter."

Harry looked up, his eyes clouded by thought. It passed for a moment and he nodded his head, straitening his robes and making a gesture with his hand. "Let him in."

He could hear the portrait door swing open and soft footsteps approaching at an even pace. "In here, Severus." He heard the steps pause before slowly coming toward the closed door.

The older professor paused when he entered, casting a disdainful look around the room before his glittering black eyes came to rest on Harry. "The Headmaster sent me to tell you that breakfast is at six this morning, if you were hungry, Harry." He sneered.

"Thank you, Severus. Will you join me?" He waved his wand, conjuring up another chair next to his own.

"I think not, Potter, I have work to do."

"Of course, hour could have escaped me that one such as you doesn't need sleep. You see, Severus, there are two types of people. Those who would have sat down, and those who have 'work to do' no matter the hour." Harry stood up, placing his wand into the folds of his cloak. "Ah well, perhaps at another time?"

"Perhaps." And with that the sable robes were gone.

Later that morning, at eight o'clock, Albus' head appeared, sticking out of the fireplace smiling cheerfully.

"Ah, good to see you're awake! I just came to tell you that: staff meetings will be on Mondays and Wednesdays in the teachers lounge at six sharp, your Syllables is due by July seventh, and you already know when meals take place, ah yes! The new password for my office is 'Mars Bar'. How are you adjusting?"

Harry had previously sent a house elf to bring him a cup of coffee, and was now leaning against the desk sipping it whilst taking in how unabatedly cheerful the older wizard was despite the fact that they were most likely the only two conscious wizards in the castle. If not the entire solar system.

"Fine, thanks, and yourself? Need I ask?" He tacked on with a slight curl of his lip. He hid his smirk by taking another sip from his steaming mug. "Care to join me? It's quite disconcerting to talk to a head in a fireplace while trying to put together one coherent thought"

"Oh I wouldn't want to infringe…"

"Albus", he began dryly, "there isn't a soul in the whole of Hogwarts, if indeed the world, that is fit to put two words together civilly for you other than myself, I suggest you, and your flaming bird come down here. That is, before I permanently close my end of the floo network under sympathy of my sanity." From behind closed eyes Harry could hear the Headmaster chuckle before the flames in his furnace roared, and blinking back the sleep that lingered in his eyes, he saw the Headmaster and Fawkes occupying his "living room".

"You know, you're starting to sound like Severus."

Harry gave him a sour look, "Please, Albus, it's too early to be insulted. Would you like some tea? Biscuits?" he coughed, "lemon drop?"

"Now, Harry," he admonished.

"I know, Severus is loyal to the Order and to you. He is trustworthy and only bitter because of the life he had lived. He deserves more credit, too be commended, and not questioned and ridiculed and scorned. Is that about right, professor?" He said with a small, lifeless smile.

"Well that, and: I never have lemon drops before eight o'clock, but peppermints! Now that is another thing. I remember when I was younger my great uncle Sebastion, on my mother's side…" Harry cleared his throat, motioning to a cup of tea that had appeared before Albus. "What-? Oh! How splendid!" He took a sip, held it there for a minute and smelling it with a smile bordering somewhere between 'delighted' and 'insane'. Swallowing he gave Harry a smile, "And it's peppermint too!" Harry decided on 'insane'.

It wasn't until well after breakfast that the Headmaster finally took his leave, waving a cheerful goodbye as the floo powder took effect.

Waving the empty dishes and silver ware away, Harry thought it might be wise to begin dressing more like a wizard and less like an escape from the muggle prison Alcatraz.

Pulling out his patched duffel bag he pulled out his old school robes, he hadn't grown much since his seventh year so he didn't need to make any size adjustments. With a simple spell he took away the Griffindor emblem, and with another charm he changed the actual design of them. Levitating it he stepped back to look over his handiwork, and once satisfied he dressed, and left the castle. Once outside the cast iron gates he waved his wand and was at once transported to Diagon Alley.

The smoke cleared and he deduced that he was only a few blocks away from a respectable robe shop. Passing by various shops he stopped every now and then to enter and purchase a few necessities. Finally reaching the robe shop he entered, noting the bell that tinkled as it swung open.

Various robes of different colours and styles decorated the front room like a Christmas window shop, displaying sets, doubles and singular outfits. Three rooms branched off and he could see people milling in and out of each, browsing the racks and books that were charmed to speak and give advice.

Finally a woman, old and wrinkled with almond eyes spotted him and limped over, leaning on an ornate cane with her left hand, and holding a drab robe in the other. She smiled and ushered him over to the last of the three rooms were he saw different sections split up for each of the shop's helpers, the area he was directed to had three large mirrors around a wooden box. He was told to take off his robe, and replace it with the grey one she provided and to stand on the box. He did as instructed and answered her questions as they came.

"Color?" Her voice had a raspy quality as if she had at some time in her life swallowed sandpape.

"Black." She waved her wand twice in circular motions and his robe shimmered once and changed colour.

"Collar?"

"Yes, mid line, and no fancy renaissance cut either, if you don't mind."

"Length? What is your job description?"

"Full, but not a bit more. I'm the new defense professor at Hogwarts." He watched his reflection in the mirror as she waved her wand and grey mist swirled about him form, altering the small, black robes into a length that brushed his boots. Satisfied, he nodded for her to continue.

"Material?"

"Spell Weave," he answered quickly, chancing a look at her wizened face to read her expression. "You do have it, do you not?"

She studied his face and seemed to forget she was holding the spell that retained the image of his desired robes.

"Yes, but it is extremely rare, and therefore expensive."

"Of course." He knew how rare it was, and he also knew the benefits. It was light to wear and stronger than any metal, therefore the perfect shield against attacks. Spells were also woven into the fabric when it is first made, and the dyes are mixed with potions to protect against poisonous concoctions, jinxs, curses, and even some pranks.

They continued the fitting for a few minutes longer, careful to get each detail taken care of before he ordered it.

"How many would you like to order?" She asked after jotting down his specific measurements and styles.

"Three," Harry said, signing the form she handed him. "I'll pay on sight."

She nodded and filed the form in a drawer under the letter 'P'. "They will be ready in seven days."

Leaving the shop he entered another, cheaper, shop a few streets down and bought a few cheap robes to wear until his new ones came in. He only bought four: one grey, one black, one dark blue, and one emerald green. Escaping into the restroom he changed into the grey robes, wanting to keep as low a profile as possible.

With his other things shrunk and inserted into his pockets he headed down a less traveled road into the darker corners of Diagon Alley. In fact he was no longer in Diagon Alley, but in fact in 'Pearson Alley'. He passed by several run down, dusty shops before finally coming to a stop at 'Dragon's Bane: Vials and Potions'. Stepping inside he noted with a curl of his lip, there was no bell on this shop's door.

Walking through the shop lazily he levitated a few ingredients and bottles as he came by them, making sure each was what he wanted. He passed by a wooden box that seemed strangely out of place among the glass vials and bottles. Drawing closer he opened the lid warily, inwardly smiling at his own nervousness when he saw it was only powdered snake skins.

Passing through the rest of the shop he picked up what he needed, and some of what he didn't but might should the need arise. Noticing a table set off to one side behind the counter he rang the bell that hung mid air. A bent, troubled looking man appeared from the back room and approached the front counter, eyeing Harry with interest.

"Yes?" his raspy voice questioned, while his beady eyes sifted through what Harry had set on the counter top. "Is this all?"

"No, I would also like to purchase that potion, there," he pointed at the conspicuous table behind the man. The potion he had pointed at was a murky green, almost black, held within an ornate vial. The man's eyes widened ever so slightly and he scratched the nape of his neck uneasily.

"It is my last batch, it is very expensive to produce."

"Do not lie to me, shop keeper, I know for a fact that it is almost as cheap as the dust that covers it. But I too know, that it is the most poisonous of the batch behind you. I will pay you three galleons."

"Yes, sir," he answered, eyes darting around at the rest of what he had chosen.

Once it was paid for and shrunk away into his inner pockets, Mark thanked the man and took his leave. As the door shut behind him he almost smiled when he heard the faint 'jingle' as the door shut.

Heading back into Diagon Alley he paused when the glinting of a dagger caught his eyes. He turned and looked closer at the object in the window in fascination.

Twin daggers were set on black velvet, the light reflected off their pristine blades. Entering the shop he bought both and their finely crafted sheaths. It was a high price, but for these he might have spent even more.

Holding them his hands he felt the coolness of their white ivory hilts, and the deadly sharpness of their blades on his fingers. The sheaths of each blade were designed to be hidden within the folds of one's cloak or robes. The perfect assassins weapon.

Later that night, resting in a large armchair he had spelled for the living room he mulled over everything he had done and still needed to do. There was still the syllabus he needed to construct, that due to his late employment gave him not very much time to do.

When he had first returned he had gone on a hunt through the various abandoned classrooms and corridors for mismatched objects he could use or transfigure into household objects. His new home was now finely furnished with all sorts of furniture and he had even turned one room into a kitchen. A table not to far from the fireplace was already littered with papers. Bank statements for his reentry into the wizarding world; birth certificates, to prove it was really him; and the syllabuses for the first and second years thankfully completed.

Leaning back, he closed his eyes, thankful that after over twenty hours of semi-consciousness, he could finally go to sleep.

* * *


	3. Chapter Three

_ Disclaimer: Yes I know I've been neglecting my other stuff, please forgive me! I had to get these out of my system! Well, anyways, Harry Potter doesn't belong to me, don't sue! _Updated Version:  13 November, 2004

* * *

_In the Quiet Seclusion_

_Chapter Three_

_Let the Classes Begin_

* * *

It was raining again. Professor Potter listened to it mix with the swishing of his robes and the steady clicking of his boots while on his way to the Great Hall. It had been raining sporadically for the past few weeks and had turned the grounds into sludge while the water level of the lake had risen considerably. No one could explain the sudden change in weather but spells were being developed to help decrease the risk of flooding.

Opening the door behind the High Table he quickly took his seat on Albus' right the seat next to him empty. Albus tried to strike up a conversation as the students filed in, taking their seat respectively and Harry obliged as far as hello. Listening to the students loud murmuring occasionally broken by a robust laugh the newest professor allowed his composure to soften a little. After all, it wouldn't do to scare the students. Much.

His sharp hearing caught the muffled click as the same door he had entered through opened and shut. A scowling Severus took his place between Harry and professor Sprout, warding off anyone who looked remotely interested in conversation with a glare. Harry, for one, largely ignored him.

The heavy wooden door creaked open and behind a stern looking Minerva came two rows of wide-eyed first years. For the most part the students looked up and blinked owlishly at the younger kids, some even going so far as to try and spook them with sneers and exaggerated whispering. Harry noted that these were all Slytherins.

He was also aware that he himself had been drawing quite a few stares and whispered conversations. Staring down a few obvious rebels with his murky green eyes he inwardly grinned with satisfaction as they quickly looked away.

He watched while the Sorting Hat was placed upon the stool and almost smiled at the confused expression of several faces when the Deputy Headmistress announced that the sorting would begin. Those would be the muggle borns. After the sorting was finished Albus stood up smiled and gave the usual announcements that were recited every year.

"…Forbidden forest is off limits to everyone, hence it's name…Filch…no magic is to be performed or attempted in the corridors…" Harry observed the student body taking note of every trouble maker in each house and class. He could see a Slytherin boy with sleeked back brown hair and sparkling blue eyes looking around the room his gaze pausing at the Gryffindor table before moving on, drinking in everything in sight. A few Gryffindors, with violent red hair, were sitting next to each other trying their best to behave and listen but occasionally would exchange whispers and funny faces until someone invariable laughed out loud and they all went innocently quiet.

When the first term notices were all recited with impeccably boring precision Albus remained standing and flashed his ever-benign smile. "And lastly, I would like to introduce our newest staff member, Professor Potter, who will be taking over the Defense position this year. Professor, would you like to say a few words?" Almost before he had finished saying 'Potter' the entire student body had broken into a million whispers, the sound like rushing water. The sight reminded Harry of his first appearance at Hogwarts, the whispers and reverent, if not full blown scared looks he had received for weeks.

"I think not, Headmaster, the students will have ample time to listen to my useless drivel in class. Let them enjoy their freedom while they can." Harry raised his empty class to the Headmaster with a half smile.

After his usual moment of nonsense Albus clapped his hands and in the blink of an eye the tables were filled with mouth-watering dishes. Harry placed his napkin over his lap and carefully placed a few mashed yams and slices of meat on his plate. The food was, as always, delicious and left him slightly hungry for more. But, instead of refilling his plate, he put down his silverware and excused himself from the table.

* * *

**_Monday Morning, HOGWARTS, Astronomy Tower_**

Harry climbed the stairs to the astronomy tower with ease. Opening the rickety door he took a deep breath of the fresh air. Standing at the edge he ran a hand restlessly through his black hair and sighed. How was he going to pull this off? He wasn't a teacher. His stomach felt like a herd of centaurs had stampeded through it, and his nerves were itching to explode like a game of Weasley's Magical 'Snap'.

He could hear the door open behind him, and turning to leave he froze.

"Severus." He greeted, fingering his wand uncertainly.

"Potter." The man said levelly.

"What are you doing out here? Don't you have class?"

"I could ask the same about you." Was the dangerous reply.

"But you won't." It was more of a statement than a question but Harry answered anyway.

"No. I am out here for a breath of air; Hogwarts has a tendency to be stuffy every so often. Class is in fifteen minutes."

"You don't have a watch." Severus pointed out.

"You don't miss a thing."

The two professors stared at each other unblinkingly, the tension around them mounting. Neither looked away until a spotted brown owl had had enough of being ignored and screeched, drawing the attention of both adults. Satisfied the owl stuck its' leg out to Harry and chirruped.

"Good morning to you too, Aries." He muttered softly, retrieving the note and reading it thoroughly. If Harry was at all perturbed by the contents of the letter he didn't betray it. Folding the letter he placed it in his inner breast pocket thoughtfully before turning his attention toward the dark man still standing by the door. "If there was nothing else, Severus? I have to get to my class."

"You still have twelve minutes." The potion master stated, a flicker of curiosity in his black eyes.

"I was always one for showing up a little early." Harry said airily, already halfway through the doorframe.

Severus watched him go before watching the brown owl preen its feathers on the stone barrier.

* * *

Harry stormed through the hallways, irritated that he was going to be late for his first class. How he hated Snape'ish' entrances.

Spelling the door in front of him open he almost smirked at the looks on his students' faces. He watched as they each took a seat, all conversations stopping on a breath. Reaching the front of the room he lamented at not having everything completely set up. He recognized the box on his desk as being the boggart he had instructed Filch to catch for him. It rattled at the sudden lack of noise in the room but he ignored it, picking up a roll of parchment that had been placed on his seat. Running his eyes over it he glanced up at the deathly silent students who were looking at him with interest.

"No, this will not do at all." He murmured out loud, half to himself half to the class. Looking over the parchment once more he tossed it back onto his desk carelessly. Folding his arms and leaning against the desk he studied his, now very nervous class, like a map.

If it didn't irk him he might have found it humorous that the two houses had seemingly automatically divided themselves right down the middle. Slytherins on his right, Gryffindors on his left. Perfectly divided.

Once again picking up the list he glanced up and said, "When I say your name stand up and move to the right side of the room. My right, your left. Jessica Miller, Douglas Times, Jacob Trowels, Laine Feirst, John Keller, and Stephanie Long." The aforementioned students stood up and moved to the side of the room, books in hand, bags slung over shoulders. Professor Potter proceeded to direct students into the empty seats, turning a blind eye, so to speak, to all the indignant and slightly confused class.

"Now, the rest of you take a seat. No Mister Trowels, I believe that seat in front of Steven will do. Patrick please move back to where you were sitting. Jessica if you could switch places with Alexander? Thank you ever so much. Miss Weasley please refrain from setting off any of your Uncle's manufactured items in my class."

A girl with red hair, cropped short, and freckles looked up from a firecracker, obviously startled at being caught. Quietly replacing the artifact into her handbag she folded her hands on her desk and stared at her new professor owlishly.

Harry hid his amusement from the class with ease. Weasleys… He mentally shook his head.

When the class was finally seated Harry nodded in satisfaction. "That is much better. In this class, you will strip yourselves of all former house rivalries. I don't care what you do outside of my class, as long as it is within the school limits of course, but inside these walls, and under my instruction I will not hear of any class racism. Is that clear?"

A broken chorus of 'yes, sir' was echoed back at him but he was relieved he had managed this much without starting a third world war that he didn't push them.

Opening a drawer Harry pulled out a stack of parchments and handed them to a dark haired Slytherin to pass out. He watched as about everyone's faces scrunched up in a grimace.

"Er, professor?" Another boy with red hair, this time tied back into a short pony tale, also with freckles raised his hand awkwardly.

"Yes, Mister Weasley?" Harry queried, marveling at the resemblance to his childhood friend's older brother Bill.

"We have your class all week, why isn't there anything assigned on Wednesday or Thursday?"

"Excellent question Mr. Weasley, but on Wednesdays and Thursdays we will be doing other things, and the assignments are not a sure thing. Don't worry, Mister Weasley, you'll still have plenty of time for quidditch practices." A few of the students snickered. Weasley was only a fourth year year but notorious for his obsession with quidditch, most likely inherited from his father, Bill Weasley.

"Now, today I would like you to pair up with the person on your right, those of you who sit on the end will pair up with each other. No, Miss Feirst, we will not be needing our text books today although you may need your wand."

"Now everyone please vacate their desks, thank you." Harry recited a spell under his breath and waved his wand twice, all the desks, save his own, disappearing with a POP. With another spell a mannequin stood several paces away from him-wearing wizards' robes and a pointed hat, his right arm extended holding a long thin stick resembling a wand. "Now I want you to watch me carefully," Harry said. "Expelliarmus!"

A jet of light streaked from his wand and hit the mannequin in the chest, sending him careening into the wall. His 'wand' however was caught in Professor Potter's open and waiting hand.

The Gryffindor half of the class stared, open-mouthed for a moment before breaking into cheers and whistles. A few Slytherins raised their brows, and a few, scattered clapped once or twice. Harry arched a brow at the students, quieting them down with a movement of his gloved hand. _Don't tell me…?_

"Am I to understand, you have never done magic before, in this class?" he questioned with menace and irritation.

A chorus of 'no's' and 'not really's' met his ears and he sighed.

"All right, forget the partners you have now, go pick someone you know and trust." Who had been their last professor? Surely it couldn't have been Lockhart? Or Umbridge for that matter. Albus must really be getting old…

The students shuffled around a bit, leaving their partners for someone of their own house and standing awkwardly, separated from each other. Harry spotted a Gryffindor with auburn hair streaked with heavy eyeliner. She was the personification of Hermione gone wrong. Another boy caught his eye. A Slytherin with a kind face. This was going to be an interesting school year.

"Miss Feirst and Mr. Times, could you step forward please?" Harry took them aside and explained carefully what to do. "The rest of you watch very closely," he warned. "Proceed."

The students watched each other warily. The girl was the first to move, flicking her wand and pronouncing the incantation perfectly. The boy, caught unawares was sent sprawling.

"Very good, Miss Feirst, now Mr. Times?"

The Slytherin retrieved his wand and the scene was played out again.

"Now," he said, turning to the class expectantly, "I want you to copy the same thing your class mates did just a moment ago. Elect someone in each group to say the spell and from there alternate. Any questions? Good, begin. And do be careful of that Massopondylus model, would you? Well? What are you waiting for? A whistle?" he asked with a sneer.

* * *


	4. Chapter Four

_Yes, yes, I know! I'm a horrid person to keep changing, altering, and otherwise shifting everything around till one can barely keep their wits about them! But this is the last change, I swear! Well…for now anyway. Ok, how about this? I swear this is my last plot change. Good? Good. _

_Ah yes, I also must apoligise for the delay in uploading my other chapters to other stories!_

_**Ducks flying objects**_

_But at least, now I have my own computer now and can upload whenever I want! Whee! More chapters and rot like that to come soon. Whee!_

_Please read and review!_

* * *

_In the Quiet Seclusion_

_Chapter Four_

_Of Potions and Masters_

* * *

As Friday afternoon finished and his third year class clambered out of the room Harry bent his head over his desk to start grading the sizable stacks of essays before him. Pulling one stack close he groaned as he squinted at the First year essays which looked to have been written in an archaic Latin of some sort. Several hours later Saturday dawned with several loud crashed of lightening. Pushed away the unfinished stack of sixth year essays and glared at it before stretching languidly, his long unkempt hair nearly brushing the floor of his classroom. Checking the clock he yawned and rubbed his eyes wearily. 

"I think working until half past four is long enough." He muttered to himself as he snuffed out each candle by hand, careful not to catch his tangled mass of hair on fire.

"Curious, don't you think." Said a soft voice. "To find a wizard doing something without the aide of his wand?" The disembodied voice was velvet smooth and low, a hint of danger and malice were intertwined in the tones but Harry ignored them.

"Severus, what brings you to my part of the castle this early in the morning? Surely you did not miss me that much at dinner?" Harry asked snottily, thoroughly enjoying it when his colleague grimaced.

"I saw your light on and deduced that it was the perfect time to discuss a letter I received the other day."

Harry made a vague motion with his hand, as if dismissing something as unimportant. "That can come later, I feel half starved and probably look like a beggar that just crawled out of a rubbish bin." Dropping listlessly into his chair Harry summoned a house elf and ordered a light breakfast for two with tea and coffee.

Severus took a long look at the newest addition to the Hogwarts teaching staff. Harry, while looking terrible when he had first been found, now looked a veritable disaster. His hair, unwashed, was slightly knotted from an obvious cleansing spell to many, five o'clock shadow was prominent and his eyes had sunken slightly, the shadow beneath them a purple black. Breakfast arrived almost immediately and while Harry was busy picking out what bit and pieces he was going to pick at, Severus spared him a concerned, analytical gaze.

Once Harry had settled himself what he was going to eat of the feast that Dobby had delivered, he poured Snape a cup of black cherry tea and proceeded to ignore him for the full two minutes that he was wolfing down food.

Finally having enough of being ignored, Snape pulled piece of parchment from inside his robe pocket and placed it flat on the desk," What is this?"

Glancing down at it Harry recognized his own winding script filling half the page. "It looks like a letter," he said around a mouthful of tea, bacon, and toast. "I thought you might at least recognize one of those, Severus. Then again, having not received many in your dismal life, I can't expect you to recognize every social nicety that is sent your way. Few that they might be. "

"Do not presume to know anything about my social comprehension, Potter, just because I do not choose to flaunt my self before the public eye as some other people are want to do, does not mean I am completely bereft of…what are you sniggering at?" Snape asked archly, his nostrils flaring.

"You are really much more dramatic than should be considered normal, you know that?" Taking a swig of tea Harry settled the cup back down on the saucer and folded his hands in front of him patiently. "Now what's all this fuss over a letter?"

"I wish to know why the Beacon of Light to the wizarding world wishes to borrow potions ingredients from his nemesis."

"Beacon of Light? Who's that? Are you all right, Severus? Perhaps you should go back to bed and try this whole conversation is what say, eight hours?"

"Potter, I asked you a question."

"Which I artfully sidestepped, now unless you want to swallow something unpleasant I'd suggest you go away until after I'm finished with breakfast, a four to five hour nap, and lunch. I should be agreeable by that time."

"No."

"Didn't think you would, but thought I'd give it a whirl anyway." Harry shrugged and picked up a piece of parchment that was stuck halfway in a leather bound book.

"Potter." Snape's voice sounded foreboding, but Harry just raised a brow and went about straightening his desk. "Why do you of all people need to brew the Dragon's Bane potion?"

Harry's hand froze halfway to his cup of tea before retracting and landing lightly on the top of his desk with practiced ease. "Oh very good, the Master knows his art after all. And here I thought the Teachers handed out those titles to just any old slimy boy crawling in from the streets."

"Is that all you have to say for yourself?"

"Is there anything else I should say?" He met Snape's soulless eyes with his own murky green one, and smiled wryly. "If you won't lend me the ingredients I need then so be it."

"I'll give you the ingredients as soon as you tell me exactly why you are making Dragon's Bane. And why do you need these other ingredients if you are making it? Almost half of these aren't a part of the concoction." Snape was characteristically frustrated with Potter, and Harry recognized the glint in his black eyes.

"I am making it for myself, professor." He stated briskly, rising from his seat. "I can assure you, I have no intention of poisoning any one of the students or your beloved headmaster. You however…well that remains to be seen." His singular eye betrayed the underlying humor.

Severus leveled a glare at him, taking a sip of his tea for the first time. Snape gagged. "Peppermint?!" He sputtered. "Are you trying to kill me, as well as get me to brew an illegal poison?"

Giving him a cheeky smirk, Harry opened a drawer and began rummaging through papers. Sitting back he held up a plain looking folder. With a sigh he opened it, flipping through pages as he spoke, "Fine, I'll give you your answers. Paranoid git. I am studying it. Not much is said about it in the texts because it was discovered by a muggle and he was killed when his home caught fire. Almost everything concerning it was burned and it was forgotten about for years."

"There is a plethora of information on the Dragon's Bane potion and its creator. Oh! I am sorry. I forgot whose presence I was in. The great Harry Potter hasn't a clue where to find a common library without the aid of his muggle born witch friend."

"There is information on a fraud and cast away experiment." Harry stated dryly. "In 1942 a German found an old journal that made mention of the potion and kept it hidden. He was killed and his possessions sold off. It resurfaced in 1989 in a muggle museum in America. It was stolen later that same year and probably sold for a fortune on the black market.

"Voldemort got his hands on it shortly before his second downfall and after his fortress was deemed accessible I found it half burned under the debris."

"So it is the true Dragons Bane?" Snape asked slowly. In the orchestra of candles that Harry had taken to decoration his office with, his black eyes glittered with fascination as he ran a single finger over his bottom lip. Harry thought he looked positively diabolical. A regular Screwtape in the wizarding flesh.

"Yes. The potion we are familiar with is a copy but not nearly close enough to the real thing that the muggle had created. I suspect his brother, a wizard by the way, wanted fame and fortune so he stole an older manuscript from his brother and burned the house down, trapping him inside. So he is the one known for the Potion's creation."

"To bad he didn't realize he had the wrong potion." Snape mused. His eyes suddenly swiveled back to Harry, narrowing with suspicion. "Why aren't you handing it over to the Ministry? Does Albus know?"

"Hand it over to the Ministry? You must be barking mad! I don't care who's in office, the Ministry is full of cutthroats just waiting for some free blood. Imagine Harry Potter, Savior-and renowned recluse-brewing one of the deadliest poisons known to man or wizard. And no, I haven't told the Headmaster yet. Should I?" Harry lifted his green eye off the parchment and looked up at his companion questioningly.

Severus eyed him and gave a barely perceptible shrug, "Why are you so interested in a useless poison anyway? Surely perfect Potter doesn't have use of a poison…Or does he?"

Ignoring the sly tone and penetrating eyes Harry batted at a stray hair that dangled in his face, "I believe I can perfect it."

The potion master went silent for a moment, his calculating stare never wavering. "For what?"

"You've no doubt heard of the Wolfs Bane potion, have you not?"

"What do you think, you insufferable child?"

"I am not a child, now what does it do?" Harry pressed

"The most recent discovery is capable of letting the werewolf keep their human mind when they change form." Was it his imagination or did Severus just puff his chest out? No, never.

"Now apply that same concept to a weredragon." Harry opened a locked drawer and pulled out an ugly green and orange folder.

"But there is no such creature." The potion master replied slowly, as if talking to a very small child.

"No, there is not. But there _is_ a reptile that acts in the same manner as the werewolf," said Harry in the same tone.

Snape gave the Potter heir a snarky look, "And what would that be?"

"It is not as well known in either muggle or wizarding world. It is called the Wyvern."

"I've heard of it, but it's a small breed of dragon, nothing more. You can't possibly tell me that it has a relation to the werewolf bite."

Harry was smirking before half the sentence was out of his mouth, "Like a werewolf the wyvern's bite can turn a human into one of its own kind. That is, if the person in question survives the bite. There is a certain amount of days until the person changes, when they do they lose control. They know what they are doing, but the beast inside of them is in charge."

"Exactly like a werewolf," Snape finished. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, "And how do you know so much about this?"

"I learned a few things while wondering around. I went east for a while, where the wyvern is most common, and studied it for a while. Now does that answer all of your questions?" Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the imposing man.

"And once you perfected this…Dragon's Bane, what would you do with it?"

Harry slumped back into his chair with a roll of his eyes. "Drink it, Severus, drink it and die!" He pulled the corner of his mouth into a sneer. "Or would you prefer I save some for your afternoon tea?"

Severus Snape turned looked down his nose and gave Harry a penetrating glare. "Do not make me ask again, Potter."

"I know some people who need it desperately. I'll publicize it, and make it available to the masses."

"And how do _I _profit from this endeavor?" Snape asked archly.

Harry paused a minute, lacing his fingers under his chin. He cast about for a moment in silence before meeting his co workers' gaze.

"I'll name you." He said quietly.

Snape's eyes widened for a fraction of a moment. In the wizarding world it was common practice to put names to things that are new on the market. Harry likened to the 'patent' that muggles had come up, but it was much more in-depth. No only did the wizard or witch in question receive credit for the mentioned product, but it was magically binding to their magic signature. Whenever a book was written or rewritten, the person whose name was 'named' will automatically be inserted. Many wizarding citizens used it to bind contracts to death, and a version of it was used to a lesser extent on children's homework assignment. It was how the professors kept track of extensive cheating.

Taking this in Snape still managed find something wrong with the idea because not a moment later his glared intensified and his whole demeanor darkened considerably.

"You would have me take credit unearned?" Came the deadly silent words.

Harry scratched the nape of his neck and leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk. "Unless you truly wish to keep my company whilst we work together. Do not think you will take the recipe and leave me to twiddle my thumbs! I'm quite serious. Will you accept that at least?"

"I will," Harry nearly fell over in relief; he could finally go to sleep! "But…" Snape's smooth tones continued with oily precision, his black eyes lit with triumphant glee. A pity Harry was already much too exhausted to notice. "Only if you agree to my terms…?"

"Done, now will you leave?" The younger wizard rose stiffly from his seat, already re-blowing out the candles. He faintly heard the word 'Gryffindor' before…

"Don't you wish to know what condition you've agreed to?" Resigned to another long conversation Harry slumped back down and rested his head against the back board of his chair.

"Sure, why not, by all means. You've already stolen my morning, why not the afternoon as well?"

"I'll take the name for the potion, and you shall leave your position as professor for the Defense against Dark Arts to me when term ends."

Harry's head snapped to attention, "You brought me back here!" He cried in outrage.

"Albus' idea, I can assure you. I had no say in the matter whatsoever, did you _really_ think I wanted you of all people back at Hogwarts, filling the position I've wanted since you were a first year? You're more of an idiotic Gryffindor that I though." Snape drew himself up from the chair and looked down his hooked nose at his adversary, "Good day, Mr. Potter, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."

Harry ground out a response that wasn't much on the courteous side. "Owl when you've got what I need." He said tightly, ignoring the insane urge to run and cry to the Headmaster the moment the despicable man was out of his doorway.

"Ah, ah ah! When I've got what we need, really, Potter, is your head to small to hold such information for long? Ah well, to be expected when one is the offspring of…

SLAM

Harry slumped against the shut and warded door, closing his eyes with a grimace.

_Stinking, slimy, sneaking, salivating, stupid, Slytherin!_

Harry rose off the stone floor and muttered several colorful words before blowing out several candles with a flick of his wand. Stepping into the fire grate in his office he flooed into his rooms and collapsed into bed. Grimly thinking up several ways of getting retribution he buried his face into the soft Hogwarts pillows.

_Well…_he figured_ at least I won't be the one to tell Albus the good news._

_

* * *

Don't forget to check out AspenintheSunlight's A Year Like None Other at skyehawke dot com! _

And reading enahma's"Happy Days in Hell" series wouldn't go amiss either.

Happy writing and reading.

No 'rithmatic from this corner, sorry.


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